


The Unexpected Houseguest

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 11:17:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Molly helps Sherlock fake his death she brings him to the home she shares with her girlfriend Clarissa. It's only for a week. What could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the sherlockmas Afterglow Fest at Livejournal. I used the prompt "Sherlock's demands interfere with Molly's peace, sanity, and relationship with her girlfriend. (Possibilities include Molly introducing said girlfriend to Sherlock; venting to her gf about Sherlock, and gf offering advice/comfort; Sherlock moving in temporarily with Molly & partner.)"

It had taken Sherlock’s continuous and awful rebuffs (especially at the Christmas party…dear God, that stung deep) and three horrible dates with Jim for Molly to finally realize something: she might like men, but she also liked women. And after all of her hassles with men, perhaps it would be best if she explored the side of her that liked women for a bit, saw if it was a phase or something more permanent.

She had met Clarissa at a pub. Not the normal one she went to; she’d been drug out for drinks with some of the younger crowd at St. Bart’s and they’d thought it might be fun to go someplace different, a bit more edgy. Clarissa was a knockout, with long black hair, striking green eyes and a curvy figure. Molly hadn’t felt at all attractive even though she’d worn the same dress she wore to the Christmas party. But Clarissa had come over to her and they started chatting. It was so easy to talk to her, especially the more drinks Molly had, and when they ended the evening by exchanging numbers and promising to meet for dinner the next evening, Molly thought she should have done this an awfully long time ago.

When Clarissa kissed her the next night, she had to admit that she didn’t find anything peculiar or strange about snogging a female. Hell, Clarissa was a better kisser than her last three boyfriends, and there was something about the kiss that caused her to curl up her toes and sigh a deep contented sigh. This? This was what she had been missing for all those years. And their relationship moved quickly without seeming like it was too fast. Nine months after they began dating they were living together.

John knew she had a girlfriend. Greg knew too, and while they both seemed a bit perplexed at first in the end Clarissa won them over. Sometimes the four of them would go out for drinks after a case wrapped up, and while Sherlock was always invited he never came. Molly was pretty sure that he thought it was beneath him. But as Clarissa kept telling her, Sherlock was a snob and a genius and some things were never going to change.

But then it did. Then came the day where Sherlock asked for her help, where he said he was going to die soon. This was a new side of him, one she had hoped to see years before but she had given up hope of ever seeing. The things he said, the way he spoke…if she had still been infatuated with him this would have kicked the crush up a notch, given her hope. But now she was happy with her girlfriend and she didn’t need Sherlock in that way. But he needed her help, and he needed a friend, and she could offer her expertise and her friendship, if that was what he needed.

After he got brought into her morgue and everyone had left they enacted their plan. She had had an unexpected visit with Mycroft, who took charge of the body swap, and after she set Sherlock’s broken wrist in a splint she had filched from hospital supply she spirited him off to her home. She hadn’t had time to tell Clarissa and she hoped she understood. Molly let the two of them into her flat and paused. “Clarissa?”

“Who is Clarissa?” Sherlock asked.

“My girlfriend,” Molly said, stepping into the flat. She set her purse down on the table by the door.

“I thought you liked men. You seemed to be infatuated with me, and then there was Moriarty.”

She cringed at Jim’s real name. “Yes, well, I’m bisexual. And things changed a while ago. Your brush-off at the Christmas party was the catalyst, I guess.” She looked around. Clarissa worked out of the second spare bedroom, having made it into a home office. She should have been home by now. “Clarissa, are you home?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m home, just give me a minute.” After a few moments Clarissa came out of the bedroom. She made it into the living room and then stopped dead in her tracks. “Bloody hell. Sherlock Holmes actually graced our home with his presence?”

“Sherlock, this is my girlfriend Clarissa Bannister.” She looked from Sherlock, who had his arms crossed across his chest, to Clarissa, who had the exact same pose. She sighed. This was not going to be easy. “Sherlock is supposed to be dead.”

“Dead? What’s going on, Mols?”

“Mols?” Sherlock asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Molly blushed. “My nickname.” Then she turned to Clarissa. “He jumped off the roof at St. Bart’s. I’m helping him fake his death.”

“And now I’m thinking it’s a mistake that I came here,” Sherlock said. “I thought you lived alone.”

“There’s an awful lot you don’t know about me,” Molly said with a shrug, going over to her girlfriend. “It will only be for a week, until his brother can make other arrangements.”

“Why is he faking his death?” Clarissa asked, looking at Molly.

“I’m standing right here, you know,” Sherlock said with an exasperated sigh.

Clarissa turned to him. “All right, fine. Why are you faking your death?”

“Because my friends would have been killed if I didn’t. And Molly may have been included in that, I’m not sure.”

Clarissa dropped her arms, her eyes wide. “Oh. Well…then thank you, I suppose.”

Sherlock blinked. “For what?”

“For saving Mols.” She nodded towards the kitchen. “Want a cup of tea, Sherlock?”

He dropped his arms and nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

Clarissa went into the kitchen and began to make the tea, and Molly started to relax. Maybe this wouldn’t be a colossal mistake after all…


	2. Chapter 2

It was three in the morning when the lights in Molly and Clarissa’s bedroom switched on. For a moment Molly panicked, and then she remembered that Sherlock was staying with them. And when she looked up the man in question was standing at the foot of her bed. She was thankful she and Clarissa had decided to sleep in more than just their knickers that evening, she thought to herself as she scrambled out of bed, grabbed Sherlock’s arm, pulled him out of the room and flipped off the light before Clarissa woke up. Dinner had already been hard to deal with, and she didn’t need this added hassle.

“Sherlock, there’s this thing called knocking,” Molly said with a sigh as they got out into the hallway. “What do you want?”

“Do you have any non-narcotic pain medication?” he asked. 

She nodded before yawning slightly. “Yeah,” she replied. “I have some medication in the medicine cabinet. Let me go get it. Do you remember where the glasses are in the kitchen?” He nodded. “Get yourself a glass of milk. I’ll be right out.”

She went to the bathroom and grabbed a bottle of pain pills, then went out to the kitchen and handed it to him. He handed it right back. She looked at him, raising an eyebrow, and he lifted up his splinted wrist. “It’s my dominant hand,” he said. She sighed, then opened the bottle for him and tapped out two pills into his hand. He shook his head and she tapped out two more. Finally he took the pills and his glass of milk and swallowed them. “Thank you.”

“Why did you want non-narcotic pills? With a broken wrist you must be in an awful lot of pain,” she said, going to the cupboard and getting herself a glass.

“I used to be a heroin addict.” She turned quickly and looked at him, and he leaned against the counter, tilting his glass of milk and looking down at it. “When I first met Lestrade I was usually as high as a kite. I thought it made me think better. I had all the excuses a junkie has when he needs a fix. After a while Lestrade threatened to stop giving me cases and my brother hauled me off to rehab. Worst time of my life.”

“I never knew that,” she said quietly before going to the refrigerator and getting herself a glass of juice.

“Just as there is a lot I don’t know about you, there is a lot you don’t know about me,” he said. “I suspect your girlfriend hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Molly said. “She just thinks you’re an elitist snob. You didn’t do much to change her opinion during dinner.”

“She shouldn’t have tried giving me the third degree,” Sherlock said in a huff.

Molly shook her head. “All she knows about you is what I or Greg or John have told her about you. John’s tried to paint a better portrait of you but not everything Lestrade and I have had to say about you has been nice.” She paused. “Especially what I’ve had to say about you.”

“I must have really hurt you,” he said.

“Yes. Yes, you did. That night at the Christmas party and the dismissive way you’ve treated me in times before and since have hurt, Sherlock,” she said with a vigorous nod.

“Then I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” she said quietly.

“Why on Earth did you agree to help me if I hurt you so much?” he asked before taking a sip of his drink.

“Because you needed it. I mean, after you told me about Jim…Moriarty…and what might happen to your friends, how could I not help? I mean, for all we know there was a sniper trained on me.” She shrugged slightly. “And besides, John and Greg are my friends, too. If I could help keep them safe, why wouldn’t I?”

“You’re a better person then I am.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Part of me wants to agree with you, Sherlock. Honest to God, there are days I really do think I’m a better person then you are. But you’re faking your death to keep everyone safe. If that isn’t being a good person, then I don’t know what it is. But it’s shown you’ve grown. Maybe that you think of more than just yourself.”

“Thank you again.”

“For what?” she asked.

“For the help. For letting me stay here. For all of it.”

“You’re welcome.” She took a sip of her juice. “I think we need to set some ground rules while you’re here, though.”

“Such as?”

“Always knock first. I don’t want you walking in on anything you don’t need to see.” He raised an eyebrow and she blushed slightly. “Not just _that_ , Sherlock. You don’t need to be privy to every conversation Clarissa and I have. And you need to respect her privacy while she’s trying to work. Don’t go barging into her office all the time. Stay out here, watch the telly, eat…just leave her alone. She isn’t keen on you being here and to be honest I’m worried she might actually hate you by the time the week is over and I really don’t want to lose this relationship.”

Sherlock scoffed slightly. “I can behave.”

“Yes, well, this is my home and those are my rules.” She paused. “And don’t do anything…weird. No mad science experiments, no taking things apart, no making a huge mess of my belongings.”

“Is there anything else?” Sherlock asked sullenly, pouting slightly.

“Don’t pout like a whipped child,” she said. “I want everyone’s sanity intact by the end of this week.” She paused. “Or at least mine and Clarissa’s. Yours as well if you can abide by my rules.”

He sighed. “This is going to be a long week.”

“just keep this in mind, Sherlock,” she said with a sad smile. “It’s just going to get worse from here on out. Enjoy this while you can.”

“You’re right. It is just going to get worse.” He finished his milk. “Thank you for not sugarcoating the truth. Good night, Molly.”

He set his glass in the sink and began to walk back to his room, running into Clarissa on the way down the hall. Clarissa came into the kitchen a few seconds later. “Thought I heard voices out here.”

“Sherlock wanted some pain medication,” Molly said.

“Did he really just walk into our room and turn on the light, or did I dream that?” she asked, moving so she was next to her girlfriend.

She finished her juice and then rested her head on Clarissa’s shoulder. “No, he did that. I told him not to do it again.”

“Ah.” Clarissa slipped her arm around Molly’s waist. “I can put up with him for a week, for you and your friends.”

“Thanks, love.”

“Welcome.” Clarissa turned and pressed a kiss into Molly’s hair. “Come on. Let’s go back to bed now.”

“All right,” Molly said. Clarissa pulled away and offered Molly her hand, and then they walked to their bedroom and got back into bed, Clarissa pulling Molly against her. As Molly shut her eyes again, she hoped she could keep her sanity through all this. No one needed her to start freaking out, not Clarissa, not Sherlock and certainly not herself. But she also hoped she hadn’t made Sherlock doubt what he was planning to do with her last comment to him. If he had doubts, the entire plan might not work out after all, and she didn’t want to be the reason for that.


	3. Chapter 3

Molly had shut her phone off the next day when John had texted her ten times in the morning. She knew he wanted to see the body, wanted to say his good-byes to Sherlock, but since Sherlock was alive and well in her home and a John Doe had been picked up to be buried in Sherlock’s place there was no body to see. It wasn’t until she took her lunch around noon that she turned her phone back on to find six voicemails, three from Sherlock and three from Clarissa. 

The first one was from Sherlock, wanting to know where her remote was. The second was from Clarissa, asking her if she could break the TV since Sherlock had the volume all the way up. The next one was from Sherlock, asking her to call Clarissa and tell her to be more understanding. The fourth was from Clarissa telling her she wanted to murder Sherlock. The fifth was from Sherlock asking for more milk. The last one was from Clarissa, saying she wasn’t getting any work done and she was going to take a very long walk or else there would be a dead houseguest in their home, and if she wanted to join her she’d be at the coffee shop on the corner.

 _This is too much,_ Molly thought to herself as she grabbed her coat and ran out of St. Bart’s, hailing a cab as soon as she could. She got into the cab and told the cabbie to go to the coffee shop, and saw Clarissa at a table, sipping a warm drink and writing on her laptop when she walked in. "I am so sorry,” Molly said as she sat down across from her.

“He’s the most inconsiderate bastard I’ve ever met,” Clarissa said, looking at Molly from over the laptop. “I have a big ad due at the end of the week and he just will not turn down the TV, and then he demanded I go buy him more milk. I almost killed him, Mols.”

“I’ll go talk to him,” Molly said.

“You shouldn’t have to. He’s a grown man, not a spoiled child. I mean, I have no clue how John could live with him! He’s just a big…big…” Clarissa balled up her fists and shut her eyes before taking a deep breath. “I need to get this work done and he’s making it impossible. I’ll come down here every day if I have to, but I hate being inconvenienced.”

“I will go talk to him, right now,” she said, reaching over and covering one of Clarissa’s fists with her hand. She could feel a tremor in her hands, and she got to work to prying her hands out of the fist so she could hold it. When she succeeded she could feel the tremor in her girlfriend slowly start to subside. “I’ll make this right.”

“Please do,” Clarissa said with a sigh.

“Once again, I’m sorry.” Molly stood up and went to Clarissa, who tilted her head back slightly so Molly could give her a kiss. “I’ll be back in a bit. I can take the rest of my lunch with you if you want.”

“I’d like that,” Clarissa said with a smile.

Molly grinned back and then left the coffee shop. She walked the half block to their flat, then let herself in. She had heard the TV blaring before she even opened the door, and she grimaced slightly. Soon the neighbors would complain, and she couldn’t have that. She walked over to the sofa, picked up the remote and pressed the mute button. “We need to talk, Sherlock.”

“I was watching that,” he said without looking at her. She looked at the television and saw it was a news program, and then she saw his face. She turned off the mute button and turned the volume down, and watched. The newscaster was talking about new details in the suicide of the fake genius Sherlock Holmes. Molly looked at him as she listened and saw his face was grim and set.

“Have you been watching news shows all day?” she asked quietly. He nodded. “How many times did they talk about you?”

“Fifteen,” he said quietly. “None of it was flattering. And some of the reporters accosted John and Mrs. Hudson as they left home this morning. John nearly punched one of the reporters in the face.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, moving to sit down next to him.

“Why am I even doing this? There can be no possible good outcome to all this,” he said as the news changed to a celebrity fluff piece. “It’s a vain hope that I’ll be able to take down an entire criminal network.”

“No, if anyone can do it it’s you, Sherlock.” She reached over and took his hand in hers. “I’ll be here. You can call me whenever and if I can answer I will. But you need to make me a promise first.”

“All right.”

“Be respectful. Clarissa nearly killed you today because you aren’t letting her work. That was one of the rules, Sherlock.”

“Perhaps I should just hide out at Mycroft’s,” he said sourly.

“No, just…act like Clarissa is John. Do whatever it is you did with him to make sure you both could live together without killing each other.”

“I miss him,” Sherlock said quietly. “Already, I miss him.”

“I know you do. I can’t imagine what this is like. But if you want to be able to stop anyone from coming after you again, you have to get through this week first, and that means making sure Clarissa doesn’t off you in your sleep. So can you try?”

“I will try,” he said with a nod.

“Thank you.” She squeezed his hand once. “I’ll pick up more milk on the way home. Anything else you want?”

“Smooth peanut butter,” he said.

She nodded. “I’ll get some for you.” She stood up. “I’m going to have lunch with Clarissa now. Tomorrow she’ll be here working, but for today you’re here on your own. Just don’t turn the telly up so loud after I leave, and for God’s sake, stop watching the news.”

“Yes, Mother,” Sherlock said, though there was the ghost of a smile on his face.

She smiled back. “I’ll see you later tonight, Sherlock.” She went back to the door and let herself out. She walked back to the coffee shop to see that Clarissa had ordered Molly’s usual sandwich and drink order. “Thanks, love.”

“You’re welcome,” Clarissa said with a smile.

“He keeps watching the news,” Molly said as she slid into the seat she’d sat in earlier.

“And I take it the media isn’t saying anything flattering about him?” Molly shook his head. “He’s just torturing himself. Why?”

“I don’t know. I told him to stop watching the news, though.” She picked up the sandwich and took a bite.

“Hopefully he listens to you.” Clarissa took a sip of her own drink. “I’m just going to come down here tomorrow.”

“You don’t need to. He said he would behave.”

“I know, but at least here I know there will be peace and quiet. We’ll try again in two days.”

“If you’re sure,” Molly said.

“I am,” Clarissa said with a nod. “I don’t want to listen to the news all day, and you know even though you tell him not to that’s all he’s going to watch.”

“Yes, I know,” she said with a sigh.

“Chin up, though. It’s only for six more days, right?”

Molly nodded. “Six more days. Then I might never see him again,” she said glumly.

“As big an arse as he is, I think he’ll be tenacious enough to survive,” Clarissa said. “So don’t count him out yet.” She grinned at her girlfriend. “Why don’t you eat and we talk about other less depressing things, all right?”

Molly grinned at her. “All right.” Then she began to talk about something that didn’t have to do with Sherlock, and by the time the food and drink were gone she felt better. She said her good-byes to Clarissa and went back to work, realizing she was going to be late. She got to her office and opened the door to see John sitting in her chair. “Oh my God!” she squeaked, clutching her chest.

“I’m sorry, Molly. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, standing up. “I just…I want to see him, one last time.”

She had been dreading this. But Mycroft had told her what to say in case this happened. She was thankful that at least one person had been prepared for this possibility. “His body’s already been taken to the funeral home,” she said. “Mycroft wanted it done before the media swooped on here like a bunch of vultures.”

“So you’ve seen the news,” he said glumly.

“Nothing will convince me he’s a fake, John,” she said soothingly, pulling him into a hug. “I don’t know why he did it, but he had to have his reasons.”

“I know,” John said with a sigh, hugging her back. “I just…I wanted to say good-bye in private.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied.

“Will you come to the funeral?” he asked, pulling away.

“Of course,” she said with a nod. “We may not have been close, but I still respected him. I want to say my good-byes as well.”

“All right then.” He let go of her completely. “I’ll be off now, I suppose. Thanks for letting me know what was going on.”

“You’re welcome, John,” she said as she watched him leave. Only when she heard the door shut behind him did she realize she was shaking. She’d lied directly to his face, and she knew without a doubt it was only going to get harder from here on out.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock’s funeral was two days later. The press hounded everyone who was there, and no matter what Molly said she couldn’t talk Sherlock out of coming as well. Mycroft had him picked up and taken nearby while Molly and Clarissa took a cab. It was the most depressing funeral she’d ever been to, and that was saying something as she had considered her father’s funeral to be a horrible experience.

She didn’t know where Sherlock had been, but when she and Clarissa finally arrived home he was in the kitchen with a bottle of whiskey. The bottle was brand new, since she didn’t drink that brand, and it was half empty. She and Clarissa looked at each other, then Clarissa nodded slightly and went to her office. Molly stood next to Sherlock for a moment but he didn’t acknowledge her. After a moment she moved and went to her cabinet and pulled down a glass. She went back to the whiskey bottle and picked it up, half afraid he would yell at her. When he didn’t, she poured herself a hefty measure and took a drink. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment.

“For what?”

“For involving you in all this. When…if…I come back—“

“ _When,_ ” she said emphatically. “When you come back.”

“ _When_ I come back, then. When I come back, he’s going to hate us both. Me for putting him through this, and you for lying to him. He’ll probably hate Mycroft as well, but then again, everyone hates Mycroft already. I’m his own family and there’s times I can’t stand the sight of him.”

“Sherlock—“ She began, but he held up a hand and she stopped. She had never seen him drunk before, and she wasn’t sure what to expect.

“I’m going to abandon him. What if I come back, years down the line, and he’s given up? What if he’s a shell of a man? And then there’s Mrs. Hudson. She’s not young. What if I spend too long away and she’s dead and gone by the time I come home? Why am I even doing this? Can one person take down a network he’s had years and years to build? He was a criminal mastermind, at least as brilliant as I am. I have no clue how extensive this empire of his is. I don’t know if I’ll ever succeed.” He picked up his glass and swallowed the rest of his whiskey. Then he picked up the bottle and looked at it before throwing it against the floor, where glass shards and whiskey spilled out all over. Molly jumped and she could hear Clarissa shriek from the office. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, God, Sherlock.” She set down her still full glass and went over to Sherlock, wrapping her arms around his waist. He turned slightly and held her as well. He didn’t cry, and for that she was grateful, but he did stand there and didn’t fight her. “Sherlock, you’ll take it down. You’ll take it all down. And I’ll make sure you’re not alone. I swear, if you call and I can answer I will answer. I promise. If you need me, however you need me, I’ll be there.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he said quietly.

“No you don’t, but you’ve got me. All right? I’m in your corner. You’ll get through this, and you’ll come home and then everything will be fine. Mrs. Hudson will still be alive and John won’t hate you forever. You’ll get through this, I promise.”

“But what if I don’t?” he asked, pulling away slightly and looking at her.

“You will,” she said, letting go of him and framing his face in her hands. “You will get through this, Sherlock. I have faith. Maybe you should have a bit of that yourself.” Then she hugged him again.

When they pulled apart she saw Clarissa had come into the kitchen with the broom and a dustpan. “I figured there would be a lot of glass to sweep up,” she said quietly as she began to sweep up the glass.

“Let me do that,” Sherlock said.

Clarissa shook her head. “You get out whatever it is you need to get out, Sherlock. You won’t do your friends any good if you’re a mess. You need to really believe you can do this or else you won’t be able to do it.”

Molly nodded. “She’s right. You have to believe it first, Sherlock.”

“Do you think I can do it?” Sherlock asked Clarissa.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think you can,” she said with a nod, looking up from the mess. “I don’t know you as well as Mols does, but I think you can do it.”

“Very well, then,” he said. “Maybe I can.”

Clarissa grinned at him. “Keep thinking like that, mate, and you’ll be home before you know it.” She finished sweeping the glass up. “How much whiskey was left in the bottle?”

“Half of it,” Sherlock said.

Clarissa shook her head. “Such a shame. This was good whiskey, too.” She took the dustpan to the bin and threw the glass away. “I’ll go get something to mop up the liquor.”

“All right,” Molly said. She turned back to Sherlock after that. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Probably. Maybe hung over in the morning. It has been a long time since I’ve had that much to drink.”

“Clarissa makes a very good Bloody Mary. Drink one of those in the morning and you’ll be fine.” Molly smiled at him. “For now, why don’t we sit down and go over things? I’m sure you’ve been making plans. Maybe I can help.”

“All right,” Sherlock said with a nod. “Let’s talk.” And with that the two of them moved to the sofa and Sherlock began to talk. Molly fervently prayed that the worst was over. He needed to be at the top of his game if he had any hope of pulling this off.


	5. Chapter 5

As the week came to a close Molly saw a more determined Sherlock. Mycroft came by the last day Sherlock was to stay there, giving his brother a new cell phone and a packet full of fake identification. He said his good-byes to Clarissa and Molly and then he was gone.

He called Molly every day, and so as the days turned to months and then to years, Molly knew how he was doing. It wasn’t always well; when he’d call her and tell her about some injury he had sustained she would worry. When he told her about some close call he had she would nearly have a panic attack. But she got to share in the successes, too, and for that she was grateful.

She and Clarissa put up a calendar in their bedroom that was used solely to count down how long Sherlock was gone. If Molly happened to be home when Sherlock called she would put him on speaker and Clarissa would listen and talk to him as well. They took all the postcards with the cryptic messages or blank backs and put them in an album. And then they waited.

Five years, three months and four days after he left their home, the two of them were sitting on the couch. Many things had changed in their lives in that time: they had gotten married and Clarissa had carried a little boy to term and was currently pregnant with a little girl, six months along. Their son was asleep in his bed, and Clarissa was lying down on the couch as Molly rubbed her slightly swollen feet. The knock on the door surprised them both. “Were you expecting anyone?” Clarissa asked.

“No,” Molly said, shaking her head. She moved Clarissa’s feet to the floor, and the two of them stood up. Molly got to the door first and opened the door. “Oh my God! Sherlock!” she said, pulling him into a warm hug. He was thinner, his hair was shorter and it was brown now, but he still looked much the same.

“Hello, Molly,” he said warmly. Hugging her back. When he pulled away he looked at Clarissa. “Hello, Clarissa.”

“Hello, Sherlock,” she said with a warm smile before giving him a hug of her own. He was surprised for a moment but then he hugged her back.

“You are much bigger than I would have expected,” he said as he pulled away.

“Well, Sherlock was a smaller baby,” she said fondly, rubbing her belly.

“I’m still surprised you named him after me,” he said, coming in. Molly shut the door behind him. “He’ll get teased dreadfully for that name, or at least for the association with me.”

“Well, considering you’re on our doorstep I’m assuming it’s all over,” Molly said. Sherlock nodded. “So now you just need to let your brother start fixing your reputation and then our son will be proud to be named after you.”

“Not like he isn’t already,” Clarissa said. “We put a picture of you up and he knows he’s named after you. He says good night to that picture every time he goes to sleep.”

“Is he awake?”

“No, but we could probably wake him up, right?” Molly asked, looking at Clarissa, who nodded and left the room.

“Who was the father? You two never did tell me that,” Sherlock asked.

“Greg. We would have asked John, but…” She shrugged slightly. “He’s so busy with his wife and his own child that we’ve kind of drifted apart.”

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock set down the bag he had on his back. “You said he’d moved out of 221 Baker Street, correct?”

Molly nodded. “He lives in SoHo now. I have his address, if you want it. We’re not super close, but our children do play together sometimes.”

“And I’m about to put your friendship at risk,” Sherlock said with a sigh.

“It’s all right. He can’t be mad at us forever.” She hugged him again. “It’s so good to see you home.”

“It’s good to be home,” he said quietly as he hugged her back. When he pulled away Clarissa was leading out a little boy who was rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Sherlock?” he asked, and the elder Sherlock nodded. A wide grin formed on his face and he waved. “Hi!”

“Hello,” he said, going over to him and kneeling in front of him. “You look very much like your mother Clarissa.”

The younger Sherlock’s grin got wider. “Yeah, I like looking like Mum.”

“Well, I’m very glad to meet you,” he said, extending his hand. The little boy shook it, and then he moved forward and gave the elder Sherlock a hug, which he returned. “This is why I did it,” he said quietly, looking over at Clarissa and Molly, who had joined her.

“We know,” Clarissa said with a smile. “We’re glad you’re home, Sherlock.”

“And I’m glad to be home,” he said. He pulled away from the younger Sherlock. “Tell me all about yourself, Sherlock.”

As the young boy launched into his life history Clarissa and Molly held hands and watched. This was the end of a long journey, and it had the happy ending the three of them had hoped for. Molly was glad that now they could put it all behind them and move forward from there. And she knew that no matter how rough things got with the rest of their friends, she wouldn’t change anything about the last five years because the end result had been worth it.


End file.
